Gentle Transitions
Even when you get exactly what you wanted, your nervous system needs time to catch up.
My husband caught himself sprinting through a project on our property the other day.
Something massive he’d normally compress into half a Saturday. Racing the clock and getting it done before dark. True to his G.S.D. approach to all things.
And then he stopped.
Because he realized he was racing toward a deadline that no longer existed.
There’s no real difference for him right now between a Saturday afternoon and a Wednesday morning. He recently retired after 24 years in his last role—leading a team, handling negotiations, steering big property development projects, conducting performance appraisals, building financial reports, presenting at board meetings, and managing endless emails.
Always on and available. Constantly anticipating the next deadline or problem to be solved.
And now the days stretch out ahead of him with all the freedom to do whatever he wants.
This is exactly the quality of living he was desperate for. The slower pace. Being in charge of his own schedule. What he does, when, and how.
And yet there he was, sprinting toward a finish line that wasn’t there anymore.
Even though he got exactly what he wanted, his nervous system hasn’t caught up yet.
His brain is still running the old program. Still feeling “on alert”, checking his phone, holding the feelings of responsibility, and anticipating. That part of him hasn’t shut off, even though the circumstances that required it are not there anymore.
So he feels untethered.
The wide-open space, the freedom, the full ownership of his own schedule, it’s more disorienting than he expected.
I was hearing a similar theme with a client recently.
Her family just transitioned into summer mode. School’s been out for a few weeks, and summer break couldn’t come fast enough.
And yet.
That transition is filled with challenges. How does she keep working from home now that they are always there? How does she make sure her kids aren’t on screens too much? How does she find interrupted space in a house she’s used to having to herself during the day, privacy to do her work while also spending time with the kids she adores?
She’s frustrated that she hasn’t found a rhythm yet. One that feels natural and easy.
There’s joy at having the kids home. And frustration that every conversation seems to be about policing screen time and reminding them to do their own laundry.
Both are true at once.
Somewhere along the way, I think we picked up the belief that transitions should be quick and less painful.
That if you wanted the change, you should be able to slide right into it. Right?
If it’s taking longer than expected, or if unexpected emotions are coming up like grief, loss, or disorientation, you’re doing something wrong.
You’re not.
The freedom can clash with the loss of structure. The joy can sit right next to the frustration. You can have wanted this with your whole heart and still feel untethered now that it’s here.
Your circumstances changed in an instant. Your nervous system needs a longer adjustment period.
So how do you be gentle and patient through this?
You stop expecting yourself to have found the rhythm already. You let the disorientation be normal. You speak about what you’re actually experiencing instead of performing the version where you’ve got it all figured out.
You give yourself the same patience you’d give a good friend whose whole life just changed shape, even if it changed in exactly the way she hoped.
It’s like gathering your sea legs as you navigate rough waters. Finding a sturdiness within you that comes with time, not force.
My husband will find his rhythm. My client will find hers.
And so will you, whatever transition you’re standing in right now.
The retirement. The empty nest. The summer shift. The relationship ending. The project you’re launching.
You don’t have to have it figured out yet.
You just have to be gentle with yourself while you find your footing.
In my face this week: I met Bindi on my morning walk to the end of the point. She stretched her neck through the gate so she could greet me properly (lick my face). She and the other calves will be released into the surrounding oceanfront pastures soon.
One Degree Deeper
How are you expecting a transition to be easier, smoother, or faster than it is?
How would being gentle and patient support you better?
With immense appreciation,
